


Not So Imaginary

by Ocearna



Series: Guns, Claws and Wolfsbane [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:45:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocearna/pseuds/Ocearna
Summary: Stiles remembers his mom reading him fairy tales from this big old book when he was a kid. He doesn't remember seeing the other parts of that book.





	Not So Imaginary

**Author's Note:**

> First: I haven’t really watched Teen Wolf in years, though I binged a fair few episodes the other day. Still haven’t finished it and honestly haven’t even tried to fit this in with it, so this is very AU.
> 
> Second: I haven’t written anything in years because university then work then other hobbies killed all my free time, so this may be awful. Sorry. 
> 
> Third: This happened because you people keep leaving kudos on my other old stories and every time I get an email about it I get all confused and happy about it. So thank you! 
> 
> (Seriously, how are you all finding my stories all of a sudden???)
> 
> Fourth: This was meant to be longer but I got distracted halfway through writing it. I may add more someday, but I wanted to at least post what I’ve done. It feels good to write again after so long!
> 
> Anyway. Thank you all for the kudos and comments on my other stories! They reminded me how much I used to like writing so I ended up writing again. Hope you enjoy!

Stiles had dreams sometimes, of his mother reading stories to him from this great big, old book. Mostly she would read them as bed time stories, but he could also remember sitting on the couch with her in winter, all snuggled up in blankets. Or going into the woods near their house in spring, and his mother’s gentle voice being accompanied the natural sounds of the forest. Or once even sitting with some other kids, at his mom’s friend’s house, as she tried to read a story and her friend interjected occasionally with little anecdotes that had made his mom sigh and roll her eyes.

Those were some of his best dreams.

\---

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

Teetering on top of a stack of books that were piled on top of the chair from his room, Stiles just flapped a hand at his dad and continued digging through the mess of stuff in the top of their storage cupboard. “I’m looking for mom’s old sewing kit. Y’know, the one with all the threads and things?”

John’s expression shifted from confused (but resigned) to confused and a little bit worried. “And what do you want with her sewing kit?”

Stiles paused for a half a second, then pointedly kept digging, shifting things to one side now so he could reach things further back. “Uh, just, sewing stuff. Clothes and such. We’re, um, doing this group project at school, for, uh, history, and Lydia picked the topic so of course it’s some fashion thing, and she wants us to make some props--”

“You’re working on a project with Lydia? A fashion project?”

“Yes! That’s what I said. It’s a history of fashion thing - trends over the centuries, and how they reflect and were reflected by women’s rights, and how we tend to keep cycling back to old styles and--” Stiles flailed, emphasizing his point - but unfortunately that was more than his precarious perch could stand, and he went tumbling as the chair and pile of books slipped from under him. On instinct, his hand grabbed at the cupboard but instead grabbed something inside it, and as he fell the whole pile of things he had so neatly stacked up fell with him.

“Stiles!”

Two solid arms caught him, his dad only stumbling a couple steps under his weight, and Stiles was suddenly glad his dad had been there to pester him. 

“You okay Stiles?”

After taking a second to check himself over - thankfully, he hadn’t twisted an ankle or anything in the fall - Stiles turned around to grin sheepishly at his dad. “Uh, oops?”

John scowled. “Oops is right. You could have broken your neck!”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassment coloring his face a little. “Yeeeah, that probably wasn’t my best idea, was it...” He suddenly grinned and showed what he had been holding in his other hand - a big cloth bag, covered in hand-sewn flower patterns and tied with a ribbon that was woven through the top seam. “Look what I found though!”

John sighed. “Well done, but next time, use the damn ladder. I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I saw you fall.”

Stiles’s expression turned sheepish again, and he stepped forward to give his dad a quick hug. “Sorry dad. I won’t do it again, promise.”

“I’d hold you to that, but somehow I don’t think you’ll keep it.”

“Ha, haha, yeeeah...” Stiles cringed a bit at the truth in that statement. “Anyway, I, uh, have homework to do so bye!”

John scowled as Stiles rushed past him to get to his room, his mother’s sewing bag clutched to his chest. “And what about all this mess?” he yelled after Stiles.

“I’ll clean it up later, I promise!” Stiles shouted back.

“Remember to use the damn ladder!”

\---

Later, in his room, Stiles sifted through the pile of things he had carefully poured out of the bag and onto his bed. The book his mother used to read to him - a book he had found a week before while searching for something else - sat beside him, open to a page he couldn’t remember seeing before. It was directly after a story of a young girl subduing a demon that had been possessing people in her village, but rather than being part of the story it was a... recipe, of sorts. Instructions, for how to make the little straw doll the girl had supposedly used to drive the demon out of its host and kill it. 

The thing was, Stiles could remember making little straw dolls like that with his mom. It was one of their favorite craft activities, besides making little wreaths and what he now realized were smudge sticks. All from herbs and flowers and other things that his mother either grew in their garden or always seemed to have stocked in her sewing bag.

His memories of those times were some of the best he had. Making wreaths to hang on all the doors. Dancing around the house to beautiful music while waving smudge sticks. Weaving little dolls for people in the hospital, stuffing them with herbs his mother said would help them, then whispering words of comfort and healing over the dolls...

His mother smiling at him and telling him it was their little secret, while his dad looked on in bemusement, wondering at their imagination.

Except, now, Stiles wasn’t so sure it had been quite so imaginary.

And a demon-killing straw poppet sounded like a really useful thing to have, if only he could find some dried sage...


End file.
